


if you don't want to feel the feeling...

by charlesworthy



Category: Fire Emblem: The Sacred Stones
Genre: Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Requited Unrequited Love, it's just meant to be fluff, uhh idk i'm bad at tagging?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-20 02:25:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11911251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlesworthy/pseuds/charlesworthy
Summary: Lyon has always wanted to help, he finds he can, in the burning embers of a house torn down by flame.  That's the thing with princes.  They almost certainly get what they want.





	if you don't want to feel the feeling...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AGrumpyMercenary](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AGrumpyMercenary/gifts).



> don't really know what to do with this, i hope you like it!!

The Gradoan people did not recognize their prince.

This worked fine for Lyon, who merely came to assist with the flames the future-seeing foretold. He merely wanted to mitigate damage, save lives, help people. His name didn't matter. Attaching the relieved, grateful sighs to his name was pointless. After he had saved the girl's life, and his mother asked, tears welling in her eyes, to whom she owed her little girl's precious life, Lyon answered simply.

“Dark magic.”

For it was the magic that had healed the girl's flesh, mended her muscles, helped her breathe steadily and strongly. Lyon just helped it do its job.

He and Knoll both agreed it was cheesy, but somewhat necessary. Knoll came with Lyon to assist wherever possible. If Lyon worked too hard (he had been very close this time), Knoll would be his voice for him. If Lyon were to get into trouble (a rarity; to hold the prince ransom you must first recognize him), Knoll would stand between him and danger.

And Lyon trusted Knoll, he confided, during the tight carriage ride there, where their knees touched even though they both were only prioritizing the other's comfort. Lyon trusted him more than he trusted each of his father's generals. Duessel would have used Lyon's name, try to rouse pride in their country and prince, and entirely miss the _point_ of why it was so important the people knew that dark magic had saved their lives. Selena would follow orders, but knew enough magic to prevent Lyon from hurting himself in the name of saving lives. Glenn... Well, Lyon was just afraid of Glenn.

The fires eventually died down, and those who could be saved were. They did not mourn the losses as though they could have personally prevented them. As Lyon was about to, Knoll mentioned that it was a fate they all might have shared, had Lyon not interfered with the several he had nearly (and perhaps actually to the eyes of the villagers) brought back to life.

This seemed to please Lyon, but he was tired. It shown plainly in his half-lidded eyes and dazed smile. His hands shook, but he held them in fists, just under the hem of his robes, so that none might see. He stumbled slightly, debris in the path preventing him from walking straight, and Knoll caught him.

Lyon blushed, but smiled. He murmured thanks, and Knoll hesitantly drew his arms away.

The sun was setting. It seemed the townsfolk were resigning themselves to returning to their homes, whether they still stood or if it was to merely sort through debris for anything salvageable. The inn, spared, was to be full, as the innkeeper loudly announced they'd momentarily help those who lost their homes.

Unspoken, Lyon and Knoll decided they did not want to infringe on that.

The setting sun painted the sky a vivid orange, pink and purple swirling in the clouds dotting the sky. It bathed the entire city in an orange hue, almost as if the flames and embers did not actually stop. The warm colors wrapped around Lyon's skin and hair. Knoll thought he looked somewhat of a painting that could hang in the castle somewhere. Perhaps Lyon was prettier.

“We did well,” the prince spoke gently. “We did _so_ well, Knoll.”

Knoll smiled. “Yes, Your Highness.”

He stumbled again, but caught himself. Knoll arms still shot out to catch him, but he shyly returned them to his sides. Lyon continued, as if unaware it happened. “You saw them? The mothers... The fathers...”

“I did, Your Highness,” Knoll replied. It was evident he was exhausted. Lyon could spend so much time speaking with saying nothing when he was exhausted. Knoll only wondered what they'd do for bedding...

“I'm so glad we could help them. We saved them. Imagine how terrible... If we'd not been here.”

And Lyon tripped. Knoll sighed gently, and held out his arm. “Please, my prince, at least take my arm to steady yourself. You're so exhausted, we don't need you injured, too.”

Lyon hummed a response, but obliged, wrapping his arm around Knoll's with an intimacy Knoll hadn't expected. The prince nearly set all his weight into Knoll. It was rather warm. Lyon's other arm touched Knoll's forearm hesitantly, contemplating whether to grab or not. Lyon's fingers brushed the back of his hand, and his face grew warm, too.

Fleetingly, Knoll imagined Lyon grabbing his hand gently, lacing their fingers together. His heart fluttered in his chest. Lyon had such soft hands, or so he imagined, just as smooth and beautiful as the rest of him. He considered it for a little too long.

“Knoll...” Lyon's voice pulled him away from the vision and back to the present. He found, at some point, that his tiny daydream had become realized, their fingers laced together and Lyon's thumb tapping gently against the back of Knoll's hand. His face turned hot.

“Y-yes, Highness?”

It was rude to face away from royalty when addressed, and yet Knoll wanted nothing more than to hide his face. There was some small comfort in that Lyon wouldn't look up at him.

“I'm sorry I kissed you,” Lyon said. His voice was gentle and hushed. “It was improper of me... If I made you uncomfortable, please... let me know.”

Lyon had healed a child using an experimental technique. Knoll had felt it in the air. It was a combination of all their studies and something more dangerous, twisting his own spark of life into goading the little girl's dying flame back into a burning ember. When it had worked, without a hitch, without any problem at all, the prince had been so excited that Knoll had nearly been tackled. Their lips met, and Knoll did his best to prevent from returning it. He wanted to, more than anything, but he knew an apology like this would come, and that Lyon would feel nothing but regret and embarrassment for it.

But the apology was worded... loosely.

The kiss had hurt. Knoll had no reason to believe in the gods, but it was something out of an ancient myth – a temptation leading to a trap, ending in nothing but heartbreak and death for Knoll. But still, the apple was offered, and no threat of snakes could prevent him from so thoroughly _wanting_. Knoll had projected Lyon's apology would be a necessity, to finally and thoroughly break his heart past the point of loving so hopelessly.

This wasn't helping. This was an offering. On some one else's lips, they would be an invite to a relationship beyond prince and vassal. They were not something Knoll dared to entertain.

“You...” His words were chosen carefully. He could not bring himself to lie to Lyon, but he couldn't tell the truth, either. “Did not make me uncomfortable. I understand you merely wished to share the excitement with some one, and didn't fully intend to... do something so overzealous.”

Lyon turned his head to face Knoll. His eyes were so large and genuine, reflecting yellows and pinks of the sky. Knoll had to suddenly remember to breathe.

Lyon spoke. “T-truthfully, I --” He stared straight into Knoll's eyes. What he could possibly see there, Knoll couldn't place. Surely that couldn't be the reason Lyon stopped himself. “Uhm...”

He glanced away, down to their hands. “This... Is this okay? I mean...”

He took a deep breath and looked back to Knoll.

“What do you think, Knoll? About...” He trailed off, leaving Knoll to finish for himself.

Knoll tried, but he could think of little more than the vibrant hues coloring Lyon's hair, or how the yellows touched his eyes and made them almost glow in the fading sunlight. He could think of little more than the gentle curve to Lyon's jaw, or the way his lips were pouting slightly. He now knew they were soft.

“I think...” he started, “you have beautiful eyes.”

In the split second that followed, Lyon's perfect lips parted, and Knoll realized his mistake.

“I-I mean, what I meant to say was that you're beautiful for a guy.”

“Er...”

“The sky. I meant. The sky.” Knoll looked away, but he could feel Lyon's gaze on him. “The sky is beautiful.”

He wasn't looking, but Lyon's face had turned bright red. Knoll felt guilty, somehow, as they both uncurled their fingers from the other's. Lyon still held onto his arm, leaning into him.

“S-so are you...” Lyon started, but didn't finish. Instead, a woman waved them over from a fair distance away.

“Hey!” she called cheerily. “The miracle workers!”

Lyon could feel Knoll flinch.

Regardless, he uncurled himself from the shaman and stepped carefully, so as not to trip more than he already had. They walked towards the woman because they didn't have any other destination in mind. Their carriage wouldn't leave until the next morning, and while sleeping in it had been quietly decided between them, neither was too keen on it. Especially since Lyon was the prince. He should at least have gotten a bed.

“My son's joined up with the army,” the woman said, once they got closer. “His bed's free, and the least we can do for you is give you a room for the night and a nice meal if you don't have anywhere else to stay.”

Lyon was ready to decline, but Knoll spoke first. “We'd be honored. Thank you.”

“Don't worry about it!” The woman beamed, holding the door open far in advance for them to enter her home. “You two saved my sister's little girl. Anything I can do for you two wouldn't be enough to make up for that. We really can't thank you enough.”

“You really don't need to,” Lyon replied gently. “We were merely trying to help...”

“You both did wonderfully, please, come in!”

Awkwardly, they followed the woman in. She directed them to a dinner table, still damp from being scrubbed down. Knoll pulled out one chair for Lyon. He muttered a small “thank you” and sat.

The woman talked to them easily. Her husband was a lumberjack, he'd be getting home soon to see all the rubble, and she said he'd be pleased to hear about them and what they did. The more she droned on, the more Lyon seemed to shrivel in his chair. He folded his arms closer to himself, and bowed his head awkwardly to one side.

She didn't have many questions for them, not even their names. Knoll was surprised she didn't even ask why they were so well-dressed for being in such a backwater town, but was thankful she respected their privacy. Perhaps she truly only wanted to extend gratitude.

When her husband eventually came home, she spoke to him and not them, explaining the fire and the two strangers seated at their dining table.

It made dinner awkward, to say the least. Knoll did not want to meet Lyon's eyes, and Lyon did not want to meet his. Any questions the husband asked were directed at the wife, even if they were about both of them, and it seemed as if he believed they didn't speak the same language. The woman answered regardless, seemingly unaware of this.

She set down the meal – a large hunk of cooked meat – and set the rest of the table. Silently, she cut off a piece for each of them. Knoll murmured a thank you. Lyon did not.

They ate in silence, mostly. It would make sense that the woman didn't care for how the miracles work or anything other than the simple fact they'd been done. The “dark magic” excuse hadn't been spread as far as they might have hoped. It appeared as though many people would rather assume they'd been sent by gods, or were granted this 'miracle' power by a higher power.

That was on Knoll's mind as he ate. The silence that settled over the table made it feel like, perhaps, the woman didn't believe their explanation. Perhaps she was merely being nice to them, in thanks to their efforts at helping the town, and didn't actually want them around. It wouldn't have been a huge surprise to Knoll, he'd certainly seen bigger hypocrites in the past. But how would Lyon take that...?

He glanced over to his prince, who had been staring at him and immediately looked away. Something struck him, and he returned to his food. What were they doing here? Lyon was too soft for the way the world could sometimes be.

“Mm!” Lyon suddenly sounded, and all eyes were on him. “What is this...? It's delicious!”

Knoll was reeling, momentarily. What they were eating was a typical peasant dish. Knoll learned to make it as a child, as did most in his hometown. Lyon had just accidentally outed himself as some one so far removed from this life that their relatively extravagant dress could no longer be explained by successful merchantry or mercenary work.

The woman merely smiled awkwardly. “Ah, it's meatloaf... Are you...?” Her question died on her lips, but her husband took it instead.

“Noble? Haven't heard from the baron in awhile.”

Lyon's lips pressed into a thin line, evidence he realized his mistake. “Ah, yes...” He glanced over to Knoll, and this time Knoll didn't break their eye contact. “We're from Renais. I'm... A count there, you may say.”

It passed because Lyon spoke evenly enough to fake a slight Renaisian twang, a permanent effect and reminder of his two closest friends.

“It's nice to know that more than just King Fado care of Grado's well-being,” the woman remarked. She seemed satisfied, ready to end the conversation there.

“Yes...” Lyon frowned. “We do... try to keep relations well.” He kept his head down, unsure of what to say or where to look any more. Was it proper to continue a conversation? He was nobility, and not only a stranger to how the commoners practiced social etiquette, but how any etiquette was performed at all. “...Do you know how to make this?”

The question was directed at Knoll, but the only way he knew was the friendlier, open tone Lyon used. It seemed fair enough that he would not say the shaman's name, but he seemed determined to avoid any more eye contact.

“Yes, Your--” He clipped the title before it escaped his lips. He froze, and after what was a brief, yet far too long pause, he finished: “--Grace. I do.”

It felt dirty to use an improper title. Lyon did not deserve that, in any respect. A moment later and Knoll realized 'Grace' was not the proper title for a count. Luckily, it didn't seem their hosts realized or minded. ...Did Lyon, though?

Dinner finished without another hitch. The woman took their plates with a smile and showed them her son's empty room before she cleaned the rest of the kitchen. They were both secretly thankful their hostess was polite and explicitly meant to thank them, and nothing else. Perhaps they just looked too tired for it.

Knoll shut the door behind her, only after she told them to call if they needed anything.

“Thank you,” Lyon breathed. He'd already taken off his cloak and had sat on the bed. The room was lit with nothing but a dim candle, and it etched shadows on his face that made him look as tired as he probably felt. “You're much... quicker than I am sometimes.”

“Nonsense,” the words came flowing from Knoll's mouth before he could curb them. “You're far more brilliant than I could ever hope to attain, Your Highness.”

Lyon carried a melancholy smile. He was quite proficient at them. Knoll could tell them easily from the genuine smiles, which were few and far between in comparison. “I don't want your empty compliments, Knoll, you know I hate them so.”

“Then accept it as fact,” Knoll countered. “Because that's all it is.”

Lyon's face turned a slight pink and he looked away, smile fading. Even the melancholic ones were beautiful on Lyon.

He was eerily beautiful. Everything about the prince was soft and gentle, in a way that couldn't have just been from his delicate upbringing. It often felt as though he was some fairy or spectre, his beauty ephemeral in the way that nothing like him could sustain itself in such a terrible world.

Knoll caught himself staring often. Lyon caught him less so.

“Even... if that's true,” Lyon said. His hands folded in his lap, fingers twiddling. “I think... I'm so much better with you at my side. Sometimes I feel like my ideas are bad, or too... extraordinary. Sometimes even our colleagues look at me like I'm considering magical theories that are too fanciful. But... That's neither here nor there, I wanted to... Ask you...”

Knoll's heart was pounding in his chest.

“If you meant... that... I'm beautiful.”

Knoll let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. “Your Highness, it's so... improper for me to have said that. I can't apologize enough.” He meant it, though, even though it had slipped out in a way he wished he could take back. It was terrible that it started that way, too, because Lyon was so much more than his beauty – he was a kind, compassionate soul, nicer and more gentle to Knoll than he deserved. To say he was simply beautiful was a disservice to him, and was a vast understatement of Knoll's feelings.

“It is...” Lyon's voice sounded so resigned. Knoll wasn't sure why or what it meant, but he didn't press the issue.

The prince stood. “You should take the bed, tonight.”

Knoll's response was instantaneously. “No, absolutely not. I can tolerate the floor easily.”

“Can I order you to take the bed?” Lyon asked, smiling slyly. “Your prince wishes you take the bed. I've never slept on the floor before.”

Lyon was beautiful and intelligent and the nicest person Knoll had ever known, but gods be damned, he could be frustrating.

“I absolutely cannot let you sleep on the floor, Your Highness. It's... inconceivable.”

“Perhaps for you, I suppose...” Lyon pouted. “Then, can I convince you to let me order you into sharing the bed with me?”

Knoll blanched. “T-truly? You're that... Adamant about me sleeping on the bed?”

“Yes, absolutely.”

Knoll blushed, suddenly aware of his hands and trying to determine what they should be doing. He didn't have an argument against it – how could he form one when it was a thought that had crossed his mind more than once? All he had was: “It's completely improper for you and I to sleep together.”

That came out very, very wrong.

Lyon thought it was wrong too, evident enough from the bright red his face colored. “Perhaps in other scenarios, yes... But... There's one bed, and I'd prefer to sleep on the floor before I force you to.”

“It isn't forcing,” Knoll reasoned. “I'm the vassal, and you're my prince. It's just the order of things.”

“We can stop arguing and just share it,” was Lyon's reply. “That's easier, I think. And I'm exhausted, so the quicker we can sleep, the better.”

So Knoll acquiesced, for Lyon's sake.

Lyon seemed to fall asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. Knoll tried to give him the most space he could, even if it felt as though he'd fall off the bed at any moment. The prince was faced away from him, and with the room dark enough, Knoll might have been able to imagine Lyon was any one else, if he weren't familiar with the way he smelt.

He didn't anticipate sleeping that night. At all. He imagined he'd be staring at the back of Lyon's head, wondering, wishing, filling his mind with futile and foolish thoughts all night. He didn't realize when he'd shut his eyes or dozed off, but he woke with a tiny start.

He woke up with Lyon's face pressed to his chest. He was still asleep, breathing softly. One of Knoll's arms was trapped under him, and the other was gently placed on Lyon's hip, as if he put it there himself. He flinched away, before realizing that may wake Lyon.

It didn't, but Knoll didn't know what to do.

The prince was curled up beside him so peacefully, and Knoll's hand was still on his hip. Lyon's fingers were curled, close to his face. He almost resembled a sleeping angel Knoll had seen in paintings, before, and Knoll's hand was still on his hip. There was but the barest smile on Lyon's face. Knoll frowned. Lyon had told him once that the divination they habitually performed, in order to predict these disasters they aimed to fix, had left him with terrible visions in his nightmares. Yet here he was, sleeping peacefully, pressed to Knoll's chest, and Knoll's hand was still on his hip.

Lyon hummed, and Knoll panicked and shut his eyes, pretending to be asleep. Maybe that would avoid any trouble.

“Knoll...” Lyon murmured. Knoll refused to look. Lyon moved, he could feel it, but his warmth didn't leave Knoll's side. His fingers found Knoll's and just stayed there, as if contemplating whether or not to grab his hand. Knoll twitched at the initial contact. “Are you awake?”

He could not lie to his prince.

“Yes...” But he could still keep his eyes shut.

“I slept so well... I'm sorry I curled up to you. I got cold. Do you mind?”

“It's alright.”

“Must you... Be so vague?”

Lyon was but an inch shorter than Knoll, but curled up to him like this, he seemed much smaller. He looked up to Knoll, eyes large and deep. “If you like me, like that... Can't you say so?”

Knoll sighed. “No. I can't.”

He pulled his hand away from Lyon's, separating himself from the warm bed and warmer body still in it, and stood. He was anxious to get back on the road, back to the capital, back to the agonizing normalcy of a prince and his platonic confidant, and started fiddling with the robe and cloak he'd discarded before they finally retired.

“You're my Prince,” Knoll explained. “Any feelings I harbor towards you aside from my fealty to you are... Forbidden. A real answer is pointless. As are such feelings.”

Lyon curled up into a ball on the bed, hugging the blanket where Knoll previously lay. “And if I were to say... I have such feelings for you?”

Time froze. Or so it felt like, to Knoll. He stood still, staring, glad he was already facing away from Lyon. It seemed the only sound in the room was the pounding of his heart.

“I-I can't...” Knoll stammered. “You...”

Lyon had such a large heart. It had room enough for his entire people, and considerable space for the Prince and Princess of Renais. He saved so much for his father, too. Was there really any room for Knoll?

“You're still my prince. To think of you as anything less would be tantamount to treason, I'd think.”

The bed creaked under Lyon's weight as he sat up. “I've been... So anxious, Knoll. Anxious that if I told you anything of how I felt, you'd feel obligated to just... Humor me because I'm your prince, and that isn't what I want. What I want is to know if you like me... Like I like you.”

Knoll remained quiet.

“I'm sorry I kissed you,” Lyon continued. “But... Ideally, I'd like to do it again.”

The thought immediately came to Knoll's mind: What about Ephraim? What about Eirika? Would Knoll merely be a placeholder until they next visited, and Lyon could return to fawning over them? He wanted to ask, but it seemed like such a terrible thing to question in the face of news like this. The word 'blessing' came to mind, but to think of it like that would be more selfish than Knoll was willing to become.

“Are you sure?” Knoll's voice was quiet, half caught in the back of his mouth. “I'm just... A heretic lucky enough to be spared the hangman's noose by the prince.”

“No, you're not,” Lyon argued. The bed sounded again – Lyon rose to his feet.

“Yes... Unfortunately, I am, Your Highness. I see little point in arguing it.”

“Knoll, look at me.” Knoll didn't want to, but Lyon was his prince. He'd do anything for his prince.

He turned, and Lyon closed the distance between them until there were mere inches separating them. His hands were held at his side, fists clenched, and he had this unreadable expression. But every face Lyon made had a way of looking ever so slightly sad.

“You are not just... A heretic. You are so much more than that, to me.” He paused. He glanced down at Knoll's hands, and his moved, but stopped before his fingers touched Knoll's. “May I... Take your hands?”

“...If you wish.”

Lyon's fingers curled gently around Knoll's, and he laced them. He stared at them like they would stop being real if he were to look away, but he did eventually to gaze into Knoll's eyes. “You're my best friend, and even more than that. You've been such a huge help to me. I don't know where I'd be if not for you, in my research or... Elsewhere. ...You make me feel less lonely. If I... If I had to face my father's health issues without some one beside me, I don't know what I'd do...”

He smiled. “I feel like we can do anything together. And I feel that way even when we aren't discussing magical theories or trying to divine the future. My feelings are genuine. I just want to know if... You feel the same way.”

The corners of Knoll's mouth pulled painfully downward, a thick stone forming in the back of his throat. He didn't want to speak, lest it roll out, but even in his silence his shoulders jerked with a sob. He nodded, wordlessly. He felt foolish for even crying.

Lyon didn't seem to care, even though it was a disgusting display to act so vulnerable in front of him. “Shh... We have a long trip ahead of us, we should get going...”

Knoll sniffled. “Y-yes, of course. I'm sorry, Your Highness, I only thought...”

“Uhm... I-if you'd rather not, you may just call me by my name.” Lyon seemed awkward. Then he truly meant...

“I could never, my prince.” He sighed. “G-give... give me a moment.”

Lyon's face turned pink, but Knoll was unaware of what he was thinking, or what he might have done to inspire the thought. He uncurled the fingers of one hand from Lyon's and raised it to his face. There weren't tears to wipe away, not yet, but he was close...

When he wasn't paying attention, Lyon placed a kiss on his jawline before pulling away from Knoll entirely and getting ready for the rest of the day. Knoll was not so lucky. He did his best to calm his nerves, but each errant glance he cast in Lyon's direction made his heart swell again with a surge of feelings he didn't know how to sort.

But the beauty in that was that there was now time to sort them, and cherish them.

He donned his outer robes too, watching Lyon pull his fingers through his hair. His eyes seemed glued to his prince now. It made sense. Lyon had basically given him permission now to look.

Knoll wanted to ask what of Ephraim or Eirika? He wanted to ask if when the twins next visited, would he not be replaced in a heartbeat for Ephraim's strong, structured arms, or Eirika's soft, perfect skin? He'd heard enough about both to stick the thought in his mind, but he remained quiet.

If he only had Lyon for a temporary period, if he lost Lyon momentarily to some one else, and the prince still returned to him, it would be enough for Knoll. He had never imagined being first in Lyon's eyes, anyway. It surely could not be true.

“Are you ready?” Lyon asked, finally meeting Knoll's gaze. The shaman blushed, caught staring once again, but nodded. “Father will have missed me... But I do think he'll be happy.”

“Proud, perhaps,” Knoll supplied.

But they both knew the Emperor did not like dark magic.

The woman from the day prior was hurriedly rushing about the kitchen, cooking this or that. She offered them plates, and they ate in silence. She predicted they were leaving, and said that they didn't have to help – they've done more than enough in any one's books.

“My husband's already helping rebuild,” she explained. “I'm helping cook up some food for all those what have been without homes now.”

Lyon seemed enamored with her, the way his eyes sparkled at the thought. Once they'd said their goodbyes, he mentioned her, even.

“People like her are wonderful,” he said. “Some of my tutors told me that commoners would not be like this. They'd be mean so long as they didn't know I was their prince.”

“Plenty of them might think the same of nobles,” Knoll replied. He, unlike the prince, was speaking from experience.

“Have you thought that way?”

The question was innocent. The answer was yes, but Knoll hesitated to say as such. He supposed it was obvious, being a man who had once been sentenced to death for practicing dark magic. He'd originally assumed Lyon wanted to force him to repent or grovel for his life, but the prince had been astounding in so many ways.

Knoll did not have to answer.

“I suppose the answer's obvious. My father had sentenced you to death,” Lyon continued. Emperor Vigarde was still contented with Lyon's new area of interest, but was a good enough father to trust his son with the responsibility, so long as their subjects didn't know.

“I'm glad I changed your mind, then,” the prince added.

Their knees touched in the carriage again, but this time they allowed it.

Knoll had casually set his hand on his thigh, and at some point Lyon had purposely set his hand on Knoll's.

“Knoll...”

“Your Highness?”

Lyon smiled up at him. “No, no... I like it when you call me your prince. Like I'm yours.”

He gave a half-smile in return. It was but a formality, Knoll wasn't the first, nor would he be the last, to refer to Lyon as such, but... “As you wish, my prince.” The words tasted strange on his tongue now. It had been an entire night since Lyon had kissed him, maybe it was the same taste.

“Your prince.” Lyon set his head on Knoll's shoulder, safe in the privacy of a carriage built for royalty.

Knoll could smell his hair, feel his heat against his side, and blushed. “My...” He was so much more than just his prince. _Everything_ came to mind, but Knoll was not bold enough to voice it. He could never be so bold enough to even feel sure that these little acts of intimacy, no matter how much he'd dreamed of them prior, were not just the Gradoan Heir taking from him what he pleased. Truthfully, Knoll would not have minded in the slightest. “My prince." 

 


End file.
